


Souvenirs

by sofia_gigante



Series: Blade Runner and Point Man [7]
Category: Blade Runner (1982), Blade Runner (Movies), Inception (2010)
Genre: AU, Angst, BAMF Arthur, Blade Runner AU, Blade Runner! Eames, Frottage, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofia_gigante/pseuds/sofia_gigante
Summary: “Hello to you, too, Robby. Long time no see.”Sometimes visiting the past is the best reminder of how sweet the present is...and how very fleeting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As always, big thanks to my beta Sibilant for her wonderful work, and thank you to the readers who have been waiting so patiently for this new installment!
> 
> At this point in the story, I really insist new readers begin at the [beginning of the series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/516802) to know what's going on here.

Eames shaved his face in the safe house’s bathroom mirror, carefully avoiding the shrapnel cuts on his cheek and jaw.

“Need some help there?” Arthur asked. He was carrying the shirt he’d bartered for at BART Mart, freshly pressed and starched. It didn’t look like something that had been picked out of a basket full of miscellaneous clothes in a damp, underground market. They’d also acquired some grey trousers—in decent condition save for some pinhole burns on the right leg—a faux leather belt that was only cracked on the underside, and a couple more pairs of briefs, socks, and undershirts. All in all, it had cost Arthur three packs of cigarettes, two tins of sardines, and a gently worn copy of _Naked Lunch_.

“Money’s no good here,” Arthur had explained as he’d filled Eames’ garish panda tote bag with bartering supplies from the safe house’s safe. Aside from stacks of cash in different currencies, Eames had caught sight of several more cans of food, bottles of liquor, books, cigarettes, and even a few candy bars. Christ, he hadn’t seen a Milky Way since he was a kid. One of those was worth over a hundred bucks on the open market. Arthur and his network certainly were well-funded.

“M’good,” Eames muttered now through closed lips. His gaze flickered across the mirror to where Arthur was hanging the shirt on a towel hook. It was patterned in thin vertical stripes of varying shades of blue, violet, brick and cream—definitely something he would not normally wear. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and it was still better than talking to Robert in a too-small undershirt.

Eames’ stomach knotted. Only a few more minutes until the window to calling Robert opened. His hands began to tremble, the plastic razor blade tapping against his cheek. He had to stop, taking a deep, exasperated breath through his nostrils. Goddamn fucking nerves.

Arthur didn’t say anything. He simply plucked the blade from Eames’ hand, and steered him to sit down on the closed toilet. Eames shot him the most annoyed look he could muster, but Arthur ignored him as he tilted Eames’ head up by the jaw. Eames let himself be shaved, studying the little nuances of Arthur’s face as he concentrated on his task. It was…rather endearing, how Arthur’s tongue poked out between his lips as he concentrated, the little furrows in his forehead.

Amazing how attached you could get to a face in such a short span of time.

By the time Arthur wiped the last bits of shaving cream off Eames’ face with a damp washcloth, Eames was more than ready for the kiss that Arthur pressed to his lips. Eames grabbed the back of Arthur’s head, transforming the sweet gesture into a sensuous one. Arthur’s lips parted with a throaty little moan, and heat raced through Eames. God, he could listen to Arthur moan all day. He was snaking his other arm around Arthur’s waist to try to draw him into his lap when Arthur pulled back.

“Don’t get distracted.” Arthur’s voice held more than a hint of disappointment, even through his reproach.

“You’re the one that kissed me.” Eames pouted.

“Couldn’t help myself. I’m a sucker for a freshly-shaved face.” Arthur ran his fingers over Eames’ smooth jaw, letting them linger a moment before stepping away. “Afterwards.”

Eames nodded, the knot in his stomach returning. God knew if he’d be in the mood after talking to his ex for the first time in almost four years. Maybe all he’d want was one of those bottles of liquor from Arthur’s magic safe. Or to simply curl up and sleep for the rest of his life…

“Hey, you’re going to do great,” Arthur said, flashing Eames a confident smile. “You’ve got a hell of a tongue on you.”

Eames snorted, and smirked at him. “Come on. That wasn’t even innuendo.”

Arthur just shrugged. “Got you to smile again for a second. You need to relax.”

_Yeah, easy for you to say_ , Eames thought, watching as Arthur went back into the bedroom, to the ironing board with his new trousers laid across.

He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to talk to Robert. He didn’t want to admit he needed his help. He didn’t want to hear how well he was doing without Eames—that leaving him behind on Earth had been worth it. Mostly, though…he didn’t want to ask what he had to: to take Arthur away from him.

This time it was his heart that clenched, sudden and sharp. It just wasn’t fucking fair.

_No. It’s not fair. Nothing in your life has been fair._

It wasn’t fair that World War Terminus had fucked the planet up for good. It wasn’t fair that Dom had died because Eames had been following orders to use nonlethal force. It wasn’t fair that Eames’ head had gotten cracked open and scrambled like an egg. It wasn’t fair that Robert had spent a small fortune patching him up, just to leave as soon as he was better. It wasn’t fair that he lost the only job he was good at because he was damaged. Eames’ whole life had been a study in “unfair.”

_So do what you always do—hold your chin up, and get the fucking job done._

By the time Eames had slicked back his hair and changed into his dress shirt, Arthur was done with the slacks. They were still warm as Eames slipped them up his legs, crisp and pleated.

“They teach you how to iron your fatigues in the military?” Eames asked.

“Dress uniforms,” Arthur replied. “And god help you if the Sergeant found a single wrinkle during inspection. He’d make you take a shower in it, then roll in the dirt outside. You had to wear the uniform like that all day.”

“Bloody hell,” Eames murmured. That explained a lot about Arthur.

“So yeah. I got good at clothing maintenance real fast,” Arthur said, tossing Eames the belt. Eames looked down. It was polished to a high gloss, almost new-looking on the outside.

Eames slid it through his belt loops, then went to find his shoes. He swore he’d left them by the front door. Arthur handed them to him, also freshly polished. They didn’t look like Eames had spent the afternoon tromping through a soggy tunnel network in them. He shook his head in amazement.

“So, how do I look?” Eames spread his arms out so Arthur could appraise his outfit. “Not like a fugitive hiding out in the decrepit remains of Oakland, I hope.”

Arthur rubbed his chin, biting his lower lip as he thought. “You need something.”

He went back to the safe, and twirled the combination. The door opened with a satisfying _ca-chunk_ , and he rooted around among the bartering supplies and bundles of cash until he pulled out a small, red pouch. Eames eyed it curiously as Arthur shut the safe.

“Here,” Arthur said, handing it over to Eames. “This should help.”

The pouch was heavy in his hand, and as he undid the drawstring he caught a glint of metal from inside. He tilted the open pouch over his palm, and out tumbled a gold wristwatch. Eames held it up to the light to get a better look at it, admiring it’s beauty. It had a square, black face, and the band was made of thick links. The seconds hand ticked along smoothly, making its way towards a small, clear jewel that marked the twelve.

“It’s real gold,” Arthur said quietly. “One of the last made before the war.”

Eames looked at the watch with newfound awe. A piece like this was worth thousands. He almost afraid that it would crumble simply by being in his hand.

“Fischer sees you wearing that, he’ll know that you’re connected,” Arthur said. He plucked the watch from Eames’ hand and loosened the clasp, sliding it onto Eames’ left wrist before he could stop him. Arthur snapped it into place. “There. Fits you perfectly.”

“You sure you trust me with this?” Eames’ voice was hoarse. “That I’m not going to run off with it?”

“It’s yours.”

Eames could feel his entire face going slack in surprise, words failing him utterly.

Arthur shifted his weight, his eyes fixed on the watch rather than Eames’ face. Though he seemed to be pulling away, his fingers lingered on where the cool band met Eames’s skin.

“Look…I know it seems like a lot, but…it’s really the least I can do. You sell that to the right person—and I’ll tell you who that is—you can buy yourself a new place and a new identity, go anywhere in the world. You may not be able to leave Earth, but there’s no reason you’ve got to be stuck scavenging in Oakland, hiding from Proculus, for the rest of your life. You could go somewhere warm and dry. Cairo. Cancun. Mombasa.”

Eames’ face was hot, his throat tight. He truly didn’t have the words to thank him.

“You sure your boss is going to be OK with this?” Eames asked instead.

“Let’s just keep this between us,” Arthur said slowly. “For now.”

Eames nodded, his gaze jumping between Arthur and the watch. He couldn’t help but run a finger across the chained band, feeling the cool links under his fingers. He realized suddenly his hands weren’t shaking.

It was time.

“All right, then. No sense in stalling, is there?” Eames let out his breath in a huff, and headed towards the desk. Arthur had already primed the Vid Phōn, and made sure that the background of the room was clear of any identifying markers. For all Robert would know, Eames was staying at a nice, mid-range hotel.

Arthur followed Eames to the computers, and as Eames settled himself into the chair, he stood over Eames and typed madly on the keyboard.

“Once I place the call, I’m going to go wait in the bathroom with the door shut. I think you’ll do better if you don’t feel like I’m eavesdropping.”

Eames nodded. As much as he wanted Arthur’s strength and reassurance, he knew he’d also be worried about Arthur—his feelings, his mission. No, this was something Eames had to do alone.

“Don’t…don’t worry about what you think I might hear.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eames knew exactly what it meant.

Arthur fixed him with a small, sad smile. “I mean say what you have to say to him to get it done, even if it means—”

“I know how to lie, love,” Eames murmured.

Arthur’s fingers hesitated over the keyboard before resuming their clacking rhythm.  

“You’re in,” Arthur said. He slid rapidly away from the computer as the Vid Phōn’s screen began to flash with “Outgoing Call: Long Distance.”

Eames didn’t watch as Arthur disappeared into the bathroom. Every bit of his focus was centered on those flashing words, on controlling his breath, waiting, wondering, if Robert was truly going to pick—

Robert’s face filled the small screen, just as cool and handsome as he’d ever looked. Eames’ heart lurched in his chest.

“Eames?” Robert asked, his brow furrowing. “What’s the matter? You’re up late.”

Well. That was an interesting way to greet the ex you hadn’t seen in four years.

“Hello to you, too, Robby,” Eames said, keeping his voice even, casual. “Long time no see.”

“What are you…” Robert squinted, then his eyes went wide. Even in the washed-out screen, Eames could see the color drain from Robert’s face. His slim hand came up to cover his mouth, hiding those impossibly full lips from Eames’ view. “Jesus. E— _Eames?_ ”

“The one and only,” Eames gave him a sly smile.

Robert flinched, and his eyes skirted down briefly before coming up to fix on Eames. He cleared his throat. “Are, um, are you calling from San Francisco? Doesn’t look like your apartment.”

“Yeah, still in SF,” Eames lied. “Got a new place. Things are going well these days.” That was hard to say with a straight face. He rested his chin on his hand, making sure to casually show off his watch.

“Uh huh.” Robert’s eyes flickered briefly to Eames’ watch, then back to him. “That’s…that’s good to hear. How did you get this number?” Robert barely took a breath between sentences. He was rattled, more so than Eames had expected him to be.

“Friend of mine looked it up.”

“Must be a talented friend.”

“Quite.”

“You…you have a lot of new friends these days?”

“Enough to keep things from getting boring.”

Robert sat back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his mouth again. “Why are you calling me?”

“Maybe I just missed you,” Eames said, shrugging.

Robert gave another strange little flinch. God, this…this was so unlike him. Robert was always so sure, so confident. Eames couldn’t see how running the biggest corporation on Mars would change that.

“Eames, what do you want?” Robert’s voice was hoarse. “Is it your nerves? Do you need help with medical bills? I’ll send money if—”

“I’m feeling just fine.” Eames’ chest tightened, heat racing through his veins. There Robert went, already focusing on Eames’ health.

“You sure?” Robert asked. “Your…your nerves haven’t gotten worse? The doctors told you it was a degenerative condition—”

“I bloody well know what the doctors told me,” Eames snapped. He instantly regretted it. He wouldn’t be getting Robert in the mood to give favors. Eames took a deep, calming breath, and tried again. “I’m fine, really.”

Robert was studying Eames with those crystalline eyes of his. Eames’ heart twisted, more out of habit that genuine desire.

“If it isn’t money, then what do you want?” Robert asked.

“I want what you owe me.”

“And what…what could I possibly owe you, Eames?” Robert looked more confused than offended.

“Passage off this god-forsaken rock.”

Robert was already shaking his head. “Eames, you know I can’t. Not with what the doctors—”

“Not for me. For a friend.”

Robert’s eyebrows shot up. “Your talented friend?”

“A different friend. He needs to get to Mars. You have a private fleet of spacecraft that go there regularly. I thought perhaps that you could squeeze him in. He’s not big, doesn’t take up much space.”

Robert fixed Eames with a cold, withering stare. There, finally, he looked like the hard, ruthless man that he showed the rest of the world. “You have a lot of fucking nerve, Eames. I don’t know who these friends of yours are, who can dig up my private number, but if you think I’m going to get involved—”

“I saw the ticket, Robert.”

Robert stopped. “What ticket?”

“The ticket to Mars with my name on it. You’d already bought it for me.”

Robert’s face crumpled a little. “Eames, I—”

“I don’t know why you didn’t tell me. If you were just scared you’d disappoint me worse after what the doctors said. But you had every intention of taking me to Mars with you, didn’t you?”

Robert was struck speechless. He looked away from Eames, staring at something off camera. Eames pushed his advantage.

“Look, I know the past is past. But…it’s shit like that ticket that’s kept me awake more nights that you know. Playing the “what if” game with our entire relationship. What if it hadn’t been me who’d found your wallet in the karaoke bar that night? What if I hadn’t sung you that song? And what if I hadn’t asked you to stay the night instead of chasing you out?”

The memories flooded back, rich and vibrant and terrible. Who would’ve ever thought that a man like Robert had a secret talent for karaoke that he indulged at Japantown’s seediest underground bar? Not Eames. He hadn’t even known who he really was until the third time he’d stayed over, and by then, it was too late. Eames had well and truly fallen for Robert. The feeling had been more than mutual.

“You remember what you promised me, Robert? When I told you what I’d wanted since I was a boy?” He didn’t give Robert a chance to respond. “You promised you’d give me the stars. Next time I had enough vacation hours, you were gonna take me out into space, show me how gorgeous this dying rock looked from up there—”

“Eames,” Robert said, desperation tinging his voice. Good.

Eames pressed on. He had to keep talking, keep digging into their mutual wound. “What if…Polk Street had never happened? Or the doctors had actually been able to fix me right? I would be there with you right now, Robby. We’d still do karaoke every Saturday night, and I’d still be mad about your snoring, and you’d still hate my cooking and—”

“Stop,” Robert breathed, closing his eyes. “Just, stop.”

“But, I’m here, and you’re there, and that’s that.” Eames said. He had to hold his hands together in his lap to subdue his shaking. “You’re a new man, and I’m the same old one, and I need your help. This is the last thing I’ll ever ask of you, Robert. Just—just get my friend out of here, like you couldn’t do for me. It’s a matter of life and death to him.”

“Last thing,” Robert echoed. He pursed his lips, which Eames knew he meant he was thinking. Finally he opened his eyes. “Your friend is obviously a wanted man of some sort, if he can’t travel via normal channels. Is he a felon?”

“No.” Eames debated, then decided a bit of honesty may help him here. “He’s being hunted by Proculus.”

“Proculus?” Robert’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How come?”

“Why do you think? He has something they want.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed. “And that would be…”

“Information.” It was a half-lie.

Robert ran his hand over his mouth again, thinking. “All right. If your friend has information that Proculus is willing to kill for, I’m willing to secure him safe passage aboard one of my personnel carriers—”

“Robert, thank y—”

“If he’s willing to share his information with me.”

Eames’ entire body went cold. Now this…this wasn’t something he was in a position to bargain for. He had to force himself not to look at the bathroom door, at Arthur hiding just beyond. Arthur certainly wasn’t going to share the PASIV with Robert—

_“I mean say what you have to say to him to get it done...”_

What choice did Eames have?

“He could be persuaded to share a bit of what he’s learned,” Eames kept his tone light, “though I doubt Cobol’s colonial expansion plans will really be of much use to you.”

Robert’s brow furrowed again. “Proculus is willing to kill for that information?”

Eames shrugged. “Look, I’m just a simple ex-cop. I leave that big picture thinking to greater minds than mine.”

Robert fixed Eames with a steady gaze. It took Eames a minute to realize that he was staring at Eames’ hands. His right one had begun to shake. Eames hastily shoved it under the table.

“They are getting worse, aren’t they?” Robert asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Eames forced a smile. “So, we have a deal?”

Robert let out a long sigh. “Sure. I’ll get your friend to Mars.” He reached over and began tapping on the keyboard beside him. “There’s a personnel shuttle departing from the Fischer-Morrow launchpad in San Francisco tomorrow afternoon at 3:30 p.m.. Bring him there, and he’ll be cleared for passage.”

“How will they know—”

“I’ll tell them to look for you,” Robert gave Eames a strange, flat smile. “I’ll give them a picture.” He cleared his throat. “I will also be informing them that under no uncertain terms are you allowed on the shuttle. Do I make myself clear?”

Bile rose in the back of Eames’ throat. God, he hated how Robert treated him like a child, as if Eames didn’t know what his body’s limitations were.

“Crystal,” Eames snapped. He fixed Robert with one last, long look. The last time he’d ever see him. “You take care of yourself, Robert.”

Robert didn’t say anything. He simply watched Eames with those bright, sharp eyes, and cut the comm.

Eames sagged back in his seat. God. That had been so much harder than he thought it would be. He closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his shaking fingers.

A strong pair of hands slid over Eames’ shoulders, squeezing gently.

“You’re in. Tomorrow, 3:30 p.m.,” Eames told Arthur.

Arthur squeezed harder, then eased. “What did you have to give him?”

“You’ll have to share Cobol’s colonial expansion plans.”

“Really? That’s it?”

“I told him Proculus was hunting you for the information. He’s got no love for his biggest competitor.”

Arthur was quiet for a long moment. “It’s too simple.”

Eames shrugged. “I told you. Robert and I have a past. I used it. Hard.”

“Must be a hell of a past.”

_It was._ Eames didn’t answer. He was still too shaken. Instead, he swiveled the chair around until he could face Arthur.

“All that matters to me is the present,” Eames said quietly. He reached for Arthur, needing to feel the smoothness of his skin, the solidness of his flesh. Robert was a ghost. Arthur was real. Here. Now.

_Not for much longer._

Arthur let himself be pulled down to straddle Eames’ lap. Instead of kissing him, though, he simply wrapped his arms around Eames and rested his head on his shoulder. Eames embraced him in kind, nestling his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck. He breathed in deeply, trying to memorize the sweet, deep musk of his scent.

“I don’t want to think about Robert anymore,” Eames murmured against Arthur’s skin. “I just want to think about you, and how best to spend the time until 3:30 tomorrow.”

“Less than 22 hours,” Arthur said.

“So. Let’s make ‘em count.” Eames pressed a soft kiss to Arthur’s throat.

Arthur didn’t answer with words, but with a soft nip to Eames’ shoulder. Eames slid his hands down the trail of Arthur’s spine, and Arthur’s hips shifted forward. It was enough of an invitation for Eames. He kissed Arthur’s neck with more heat, parting his lips and letting his teeth scrape across the stubbled column. Arthur moaned quietly, his embrace tightening as he ground himself forward.

“Careful, love, you’re going to wrinkle these nice new clothes of mine.” Eames chuckled, then sucked hard on Arthur’s neck.

Arthur gave a keening moan, pressing himself close enough that Eames felt the hardness of his erection poking into his belly.

“Fuck your clothes,” Arthur said, even as he pulled back just enough to start undoing the buttons of Eames’ shirt.

“Starting to feel like your doll,” Eames said, voice silky, “the way you’ve been dressing and undressing me.”

“Not my fault you keep insisting you need clothes.” Arthur opened Eames’ shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of his pants. “I was happy to keep you naked.”

Eames’ cock jumped. Arthur pushed the striped shirt off of Eames’ shoulders, letting it fall away behind the chair. Then he began tugging impatiently at Eames’ undershirt.

It was easier to undress Arthur in his simple black shirt, and Eames had it off of Arthur before he’d even gotten Eames’ undershirt up to his nipples. Arthur didn’t seem to care anymore. He ran his hands over the planes of Eames’ chest, tracing the tattoos, the curves of skin that used to be pure muscle, the patches of gingery chest hair. Eames pulled Arthur even closer, pressing bare flesh to bare flesh, as he kissed Arthur, hot and hungry.

They ground against each other for what felt like ages, kissing feverishly, building the fire high and hot. Finally, Arthur began fidgeting with the buckle of Eames’ belt. The trousers were definitely more challenging to navigate, but Arthur wouldn’t be thwarted. Eventually, he just stood, and grabbed the band of his slack and his briefs, working both down along Eames’ legs. Eames’ cock twitched in anticipation, especially as Arthur began working the fly of his own trousers.

Arthur’s clothes hit the carpet, but he didn’t come back to Eames right away. He stepped backwards to the bed, and for a moment Eames thought he intended him to join him there. Instead, he reached into the bedside table drawer, and pulled out a bottle with a thick, clear fluid.

Arthur slid back into place on Eames’ lap, already uncapping the bottle and pouring himself a generous handful of the lube. When his slickened hand wrapped around Eames’ shaft, Eames cried out, pleasure crackling through him. He let himself enjoy Arthur’s stroking for a moment before plucking the bottle from the table beside them, and squeezing some out onto his hand. He palmed Arthur’s cock, and felt him shudder in his lap, grind even harder against him.

As they kissed and stroked each other, Eames had a dull flash of the dream he’d had, with Arthur fully clothed and writhing in his lap like this. God, this was so much better, so much richer than any dream, with Arthur burning hot and so very alive on his lap.

Eames grabbed Arthur’s ass with his free hand and yanked him even closer. The backs of their hands nudged together, and Arthur figured out what Eames was angling for. He opened his hand, just as Eames did, and both cocks slid together in the warm, slick channel they’d created together.

They both moaned, moving even more frantically against each other. Arthur pumped his hips along Eames’ thighs, while Eames bucked upwards to create a delicious friction. Eames was lost to everything but the feel of slick flesh against slick flesh, the perfect weight of Arthur in his lap, the musky smell of Arthur’s sweat as it cascaded down his bare chest. Eames licked at a droplet coursing down Arthur’s throat, and Arthur practically leapt in Eames’ lap, his moans turning into wordless pleas. Eames smiled, and licked again, and again, making Arthur dance, his cock thrusting erratically against Eames’. He was close, so close…

Eames latched his mouth to Arthur’s neck and sucked, hard. Arthur wailed, clinging to Eames’ back with his free hand, straining with his whole body to get more, more, more. Eames sucked and bit, devouring Arthur, stroking their joined cocks furiously, until Arthur gave a warning cry a split second before going rigid against Eames, bathing his cock in warm slickness. Feeling Arthur come against him was the last nudge Eames needed, and he let himself go as he howled against Arthur’s bruised neck, thrusting and pumping madly into their joined hands.

Arthur sagged against Eames, panting and shaking. Eames stroked his sweaty back, lazily tracing the ridges of Arthur’s spine. Arthur hummed contentedly, then squirmed as Eames’s finger reached his pelvis.

“Tickles,” Arthur said.

“Hmm. You’re lucky I’m too tired to do anything with that information,” Eames said as he dropped his hand to Arthur’s thigh. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Arthur was becoming heavy. And sticky.

“Shower?” Arthur suggested, scooting back.

“Don’t know how else we’re going to clean up this mess.” Eames looked down between them, at the streaks of jism coating both of their bellies, their hands, their deflating cocks. He looked up at Arthur, and saw the full extent of the damage he’d done to his neck. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Arthur’s hand reached for his neck, touching the two dark hickeys amid a constellation of red speckles that Eames had left behind. “Did you leave a mark?”

“More than one.” Eames bit his lower lip. “God, that’s tacky of me. I’m—”

Arthur silenced him with a hard, sharp kiss. “Good.”

Eames’ eyebrow raised. “Fan of souvenirs, love?”

“Only from you.”

Eames’ heart fluttered, a different warmth spreading through his humming nerves. He touched the marks, almost reverently, then leaned forwards and kissed them, gently. Arthur shivered against him.

“Come on,” Eames said, “let’s get cleaned up. Then maybe we can work on making some more.”


End file.
